


Love Under Sanguine Skies

by QueenxUndead



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Crimson Days (Destiny), Crimson Days 2021, F/M, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenxUndead/pseuds/QueenxUndead
Summary: A collection of one-shots focused around OC Guardians, as well as some canon characters, in memoriam of the Crimson Days. Prompts are from the Crimson Days tag on Tumblr.Tags and ships reflect characters to come in future chapters as well as those currently posted.
Relationships: Female Guardian/Crow, Female Guardian/Male Guardian (Destiny), Female Guardian/Uldren Sov, Male Guardian/Shaxx, Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), Sjur Eido/Mara Sov, The Drifter/Female Guardian (Destiny)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	1. Crimson (Male Guardian)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first time posting to AO3 and I'm excited to share my ideas for these prompts! Every chapter will be wildly different in content and length, but most will be fluffy/romantic/maybe smutty if I'm comfortable enough.  
> ~~~  
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of gore and canon-typical violence  
> Pairings: None  
> 

_A city painted in the color of death is all too much for a war-torn Hero._

* * *

When the Crimson Days came around, it leaked into every aspect of every day in the Tower. Over the years, the celebration seeped from the Tower and infected the Last City, where the residents welcomed the idea of a new holiday with open arms. Most establishments were closed to celebrate aside from florists, chocolatiers, and Deadshot, the Last City's shooting range. A morbid eyesore on the otherwise festive avenue, yes, but business was business and the boss was not one to turn patrons away.

Shots rang out in the silent air, serving as a jarring reminder that the fleeting celebration of the Crimson Days was just that — fleeting. They echoed down the avenue, drowning out the bass of a nearby bar's music and the laughter of drunken singles making mistakes in the name of holiday passion.

The receptionist that was unlucky enough to be working the night shift rolled around a bit of Glimmer in her palm and sighed. Her gaze flicked over to the sole patron that kept her on shift — an Awoken Guardian with piercing lime green eyes and smooth azure skin. His dark brows were knit together as he focused on the empty space ahead of him.

She leaned over the counter and rest her chin in her palm. "Does a hero like you got a date for the 'Days, hon?"

A pressboard cutout of an Eliksni Captain sprang up where the Guardian's gaze was steadfast. He fired his weapon from the hip, the golden barrel of the Last Word gleaming in the fluorescent lights overhead. The pressboard target retracted into the ground with a cybernetic hiss, a bullet hole torn straight through the bullseye on its head. He twirled the hand cannon on his index finger and holstered it in one fluid motion, turning his illuminant eyes onto the receptionist.

"I don't celebrate."

He approached the front desk, a heaping handful of Glimmer transmatting into his calloused blue palm in a shimmering turquoise light. With a flick of his wrist, he dumped it onto the counter and turned, pushing the glass doors open and stepping out onto the street. A scowl etched itself onto his features.

The City was painted vermillion, draped in scarlet ribbons and silken ruby tapestries. Twinkling lights of crimson drowned out the stars above and hued the distant Traveler in washed rose. Red, _red_ , _**red**_. Vazin hated the color.

His life was laved in red, and sometimes, it was all he saw.

Blood. Spilling out over his hands, smearing across the visor of his helmet, seeping into the thick weave of his armor until his vision faded. Rusting the steel of his daggers, spattering onto his tongue from a gunshot too close, curling in ribbons as it mixed with sizzling pools of radiolaria or cloudy seas of methane. Home was the last place where he wanted to see the terrible color.

To the city dwellers, it was the color of love, passion, and desire. It represented strength, courage, and vigor. But to him...to the hero of that once-broken city, it was the color of mortality that served as a cruel reminder of life's impermanence and that tomorrow was never promised. It was unfathomable to him how they could use such a color to decorate their home in what was meant to be a time of celebration.

He had seen the Last City truly bathed in crimson. He saw innocents struck down in the streets by the blades of ruthless Cabal, their virginal blood painting the greying asphalt in a new shade that would not be so easily washed away. He watched red lasers scorch through skulls and set homes ablaze in a whirlwind of fire. He cried for them, died for them, and saw nothing but red for weeks, maybe even months.

A gunmetal Ghost phased into reality above Vazin's left shoulder, his mechanical blue eye serving as a breath of fresh air from all the horrible, engulfing _red_.

"Transmat me to the Courtyard."

His Lightborne companion's shell contracted as if he were about to speak, but he said nothing. He only tucked himself away again as he transmatted his Guardian from the scarlet streets of the City. 

Vazin was sucked into the vacuum of time for a mere moment before he was spat out again miles away from where he left. He manifested in the Courtyard with a burst of smoke, then his boots hit the ground.

The Tower was worse than the City below. Banners bearing red hearts hung from tall posts and scarlet ribbons were weaved through every railing. Flower petals littered the ground and blanketed it in that horrible color that reminded him so much of the War. Some of the petals that had already been crushed by workers' boots oozed as if they were bleeding.

Across the Courtyard from the docking port was where most of the commotion was happening, on Lord Shaxx's cramped balcony. The Crucible handler's station was decked out in more red than usual, the amount of flags flapping behind the colossal Titan nearly doubled. A horde of Guardians was gathered nearby, decked out in their best armor for live-fire combat.

Vazin's attention shifted when a short bustle of commotion broke out near the Cryptarch. A lively young Hunter untwined her fingers from a tall Warlock's and crouched down to scoop up an armful of petals. She threw them into the air with a burst of laughter that could be heard across the Tower. The Warlock leaned down and affectionately bumped the crown of his helmet against her forehead.

One of the crimson petals found its way into Vazin's mouth. He spat it out, lips curled into a snarl, and tightened his hand around the dagger at his hip.


	2. Vow (Uldren, Mara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uldren makes his first vow to the person that matters most to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None, Mara & Uldren sibling bond

_"I will be with you always," he promised. As an ever-loyal brother, he could give her nothing less. She accepted his devotion with a close-lipped smile and nothing more._

* * *

His first vow was to his beloved sister, long before their Human deaths and their awakening in the Distributary, long before his name was Uldren and he carried the duties of a people's prince. It was aboard the mothership Yang Liwei, in the dim light of his sister's quarters, with a well-muscled arm curled around her thin shoulders. Wisps of her blonde hair tickled his skin and her breath clouded before her lips in the chilly air of the cabin.

He loved his sister dearly and with his whole heart, so he did not mind holding her in his arms if she so desired. It was rare that he felt needed by her, and in the times he did, it scared him. Mara was an independent spirit, never even turning to Osana for guidance. So when she pulled him from his recovery bed in Medical and led him back to her quarters, he could not help but feel like something was amiss. 

She tilted her head back and rested its crown against his dislocated shoulder that had been slammed into the hard steel of the killzone hours before. He sucked in an agonized breath, but did not ask her to move. Familiar slender fingers caressed the bruising on his jaw and delicately twirled a strand of his dark hair between them. 

"Uldwyn." His name unfurled from her lips in the form of a question and had his amber gaze shifting from the ceiling to her in seconds. Her blue eyes were distant, somewhere far beyond the dim cabin where they sat in silence, and he worried she was lightyears away. Only her feather-light traces on his skin let him know she was not gone. 

"How did you fare in your match today?" 

An arrogant smirk tugged at the corners of his thin lips and a chuckle rumbled in his chest, "Quite well." 

"Is that why I fetched you from Medical?" 

"I survived. Therefore, I prevailed."

If Mara was one to smile, she would have in that moment. Uldwyn knew her well enough to know that she found humor in his ridiculous resilience even if she did not show it outright. The last time he saw her truly smile was when they were children and their feet squelched in thick mud, sunlight warming their rosy cheeks. Now, they were nearing twenty Earthen years and that guileless joy was long forgotten. 

The teeth she bared now were ferocious, smiles full of deceit to twist the will of those she held under her thumb. Uldwyn knew in the back of his mind that he was one of those pawns, and yet he refused to admit it. He was her brother, he reasoned, so she must love him in some sense. He loved her so much he swore his final breath would be taken in the form of her name. 

Her fingers danced over every bruise and rough abrasion on his arm and he followed with eagle-sharp eyes. The gold-plated rings she wore, encrusted with citrine topaz and amethyst, were cold against his skin. Colder than her icy eyes and the knowledge that she did not love him as much as he did her. 

"How do you think of me?" 

The inquiry was open-ended and Uldwyn was not quite sure how to respond. He would, of course, answer in the way he always did when it came to Mara: in riddles and quandary. His preference was to forthright interactions, but when it came to her, he would do anything to please. He hoped one day his devotion would bring a true smile back to her face. 

"How am I meant to?" he asked. 

"Will you be there?" Her fingers were so cold and he wanted to push her away, but she was his blood and he could not let her go. "When the void swallows me up? When my tether breaks and I am no more?" 

He would take whatever touch he could get from her, whether it was her delicate fingers tracing over scabbed wounds or a slap to the cheek that left a stinging worse than any time he was brought down in the killzone with pearls of his blood floating in the air. There was a time when she would wrap her arms around his torso when she cried and he would plant a kiss on the blonde crown of her head to comfort her. It was when they were young and had only each other to worry about. 

Back then, family was all that mattered. It still was important to both of them, but in direly different ways. Uldwyn was hanging onto that innocent love he always had for his sister, hoping one day she would smile again and be proud of him. Mara had grown far beyond such childish notions. Her love for her family remained, but it had been buried far beneath a mountain of more pressing concerns. 

"You speak as if death is coming to you so soon," he remarked.

"It comes for us all, dear brother." She lifted her head from his shoulder and turned to face him. There was wisdom in her eyes, far beyond her twenty Earthen years, and he wondered how she had ascended so far from him. "Will you be there for me?" 

For once, he could tell she desired an answer. So, with dark brows drawn in concern, he gave one, "Of course I will, Mara." 

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. I will be with you always."

She accepted his vow with a close-lipped smile that he knew was anything but true.


	3. Cupid's Knife (Crow/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guardian Fazia notices Crow's hesitance when asked about his Baron Spider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild language  
> Pairing: slight Crow/Female Guardian

_In a world of cruelty, even a drop of kindness can make the mistreated go blind._

* * *

Uldren Sov was not the kind of man to conceal his emotions; everything he felt was displayed clearly in his malicious eyes and jeeringly bared teeth. The first time Fazia met him in the Queen's Court when she sought entry to the Black Garden, she studied him closely, gauged each outright reaction he had to her words, and came to the conclusion that the prince wore his heart on his sleeve. Each time she met him after that, her conclusion was proven true. She often wondered how someone who was thousands of years old with the knowledge of the universe at their fingertips could not figure out how to hide their heart from strange eyes.

When she met him again in his new life beneath the dusty grounds of Luna in catacombs crawling with monsters, she was surprised to find his amber eyes so bleak. Three years had passed since he was slain in the Watchtower and so much had changed. His Risen name was Crow and he had long since stitched that open heart deep inside himself so the world would never find it.

Fazia considered herself to be a good reader of people. She let her Ghost speak for her in most situations, and in her endless silence, she found the time to study those around her. Certain intonations of voice, placement of words, how and where eyes would shift, even the slightest twitch of brow or finger would tell her someone's intent. With Crow, she could never quite tell what he was feeling. He was inhumanly still and she swore sometimes he went hours without blinking or even moving his eyes.

She watched him frequently as he performed last minute tweaks to the Cryptolith lure before they left for a hunt. When he tinkered, his brows knitted together, his lips drew taut, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. Only in those moments could she really read him, when he unknowingly let his carefully constructed guard down. She could feel the passion he put into every minuscule detail of even the smallest projects.

Two weeks had passed since they began hunting down Wrathborn on the Tangled Shore. Fazia had grown accustomed to the Lightbearer's presence, even found herself speaking to him in moments of long silence when they waited for the lure to bait their prey. She came to know the real him on the battlefield, when his monotony disappeared and he would toss out sloppy grenades with arrogant taunts or make teasing jabs when she would just miss her enemies with her daggers and they would sink into walls or floors or even some of Spider's shipments that had yet to be collected.

They sat together now after an exhausting day of mowing down hordes upon hordes of Wrathborn enemies, a small campfire crackling in front of them and providing a means for them to cook the rodent-like creatures Fazia caught for sustenance. She tore into the creature with sharp teeth as soon as she was sure it was cooked. Crow was more hesitant to eat it since most things in Soriks's Cut were unsafe, but the growling hunger in his stomach got the better of him and he concluded food poisoning would be better than starving for another night.

She finished her meal much quicker than him, tossing the bone skewer onto the fire and draping her arm over an arched knee. Her eyes wandered the Shore, then settled on the man beside her, whose posture seemed less rigid than it would in the Safehouse.

"You're relaxed in enemy territory," she remarked.

Crow's washed orange eyes darted to her and he moved the half-eaten rodent kebab away from his mouth.

"I'm aware of my surroundings," he said, "I'm just tired from a hard day's work."

"No, it's more than that." She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, "You're glad to spend a night away from the Safehouse."

"Fresh air is nice."

She lifted her nose and wafted the Shore's rancid air into her face, promptly coughing when the bitter stench of burning Cabal oil hit her. She chuckled, "So fresh."

He said nothing more and turned back to his meal, taking another ravenous bite. She couldn't quite place what he reminded her of, the way his eyes darted around as he ate and he tucked his food into his chest when his teeth were not sunken into it. Her brows furrowed as she studied him closer, only noticing then how skinny he was. It didn't occur to her that he was malnourished, simply because of his impressive performance in battle. Perhaps it was his Light that kept him strong.

"Does Spider feed you?" she asked.

"He provides me safety, not a home," he replied, "I feed myself when I can."

"How do you feel about him?"

That question made his muscles tense and the sharp curve of his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. A dim bleakness returned to his eyes and she knew then how carefully guarded he truly was. She wasn't quite sure if it was a coping mechanism or a reflex to assure his own safety, but even the slightest mention of disloyalty to the Eliksni kingpin made him clam up. It was like he was some kind of machine.

"He is my Baron and I serve him. I owe him my gratitude and my life."

"That's what you're expected to say to him, sure, but how do **_you_** feel?" she pressed. She gestured vaguely over her body and added, "I have no comms on me right now and our Ghosts can't hear us. I'll tell you how I feel about him if it'll prove I'm not out to get you."

He bit his bottom lip and crinkled his brow. His female companion continued, adjusting her seated position and taking a deep breath before she spoke,

"I think he's a capricious, parasitic son of a bitch who needs to get off his lazy ass and do something for himself for once in his wasteful life. I came to him three years ago with a friend in a lapse of judgement to obtain information that I probably could have gotten myself and he's had his nasty claws in me since. I hate him and I hope someday he gets thrown into a black hole and eaten up by the universe."

Crow's eyes widened and he nearly lost his grip on his kebab. Fazia laughed at his unchecked reaction and gently nudged his shoulder with her fist. "C'mon, let's hear it from you."

The young Lightbearer certainly harbored some strong opinions about the Eliksni kingpin, but saying them aloud was different than thinking them. Hell, sometimes he was even afraid to think them. He knew what Spider was capable of, what horrible, cruel things he could do without batting an eye. He had been a victim to the Eliksni's abuse in more ways than he cared to recount; the scars only faded because of his Light and because Spider found other ways to torture him into submission.

He lowered his head and murmured, "There's a...bomb rigged inside of Glint's shell." His heavy boot scuffed at the dirt and made a small trench the size of his foot. "It's no one's fault but my own, I...disobeyed the Baron. I only wish he would have chosen to make me pay for my heedlessness rather than Glint."

"We're _**Hunters**_ , Crow. It's in our nature to be reckless, to an extent." Fazia leaned back so her shoulders were flush to the cool rock they were propped against. "It's okay to dislike him. You're inexperienced and vulnerable and he's using that to manipulate you."

He frowned. In his time Risen, he had experienced much worse than the treatment the Baron gave him. He had searing Golden Gun rounds sunken into his skull, electric fists send shockwaves through him to seize his heart, cold supernovas of Void rip him apart at the molecular level. Though, with every death, Glint was able to resurrect him and make all the pain go away when night fell. Never had any Guardian put his Ghost's life at stake.

In a way, maybe Fazia was right. Perhaps Baron Spider **_was_** the worst of them.

Before he could say anything, the whirring mechanisms of two Ghosts filled the crackling silence. Glint and Fazia's Ghost, Aethe, darted up to their respective Lightbearers' shoulders and hovered above, shells twirling and fluttering with excitement. Glint began the cybernetic chatter, 

"Lighten up, guys! We just slayed an army!"

"Yes, we did," Crow muttered, "And there will be more."

"Glint's right. You should relax," Fazia commented with a small smirk, "We have a few hours 'til we have to get back to the Safehouse. Who says the Wrathborn are dead yet?"

She bumped the side of her leg against Crow's, the scaly leather of his thigh-length boot scratching against the steel polymer of her strides. She grunted and pushed herself up from the ground, dusting off her thighs and rear, then extended a hand down to help him up.

He hesitated for a moment, then tossed the bones from his meal into the fire and took her hand. Her palm was warm against his even through his worn leather gloves and it brought a flicker of heat to his cheeks. When he stood, she clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to the shiny jumpship that materialized a few feet behind their boulder.

"C'mon, it's warm on my ship and I have rations. They may taste like cardboard, but it's better than Cabal oil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little fuzzy on the concept of Cupid's knife, so it was tough to come up with something that fit this prompt, but I hope it comes across well. Thank you for reading!


	4. Fighting Together (Male Guardian/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axis-5 and Niami are forced into a Crimson Doubles match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit language  
> Pairing: sorta Male Guardian/Female Guardian

_Not all battles must be shouldered alone._

* * *

"I hate this time of year," Niami growled. She sneered and kicked at the pile of red rose petals that had blown under her fireteam's table in the Bazaar. Vazin, her fellow Awoken and fireteam leader, grinned and shoveled a forkful of noodles into his mouth. 

"You're just jealous 'cause Axis is always my Crimson Bond," he said through a mouthful of food. He hooked an arm around the broad shoulders of the Exo beside him and planted a sloppy kiss on the plate of his cheek. The Exo in question, Axis-5, scowled and shoved him away. 

Niami rolled her eyes and ripped off a bite of her pizza slice, "If I wanted a Crimson Bond, I would get one. I don't participate in the Crucible anymore."

"Yeah, now you only take on slimy underground gigs like Gambit," Axis muttered. 

"What can I say? The Drifter gives better payouts and I'm one hell of an Invader."

"He's a dirty basement rat."

"Get off your high horse, Ax. Not everyone has to overcompensate with fancy Trials weapons like you."

"The Trials of Osiris is a legen—"

Vazin banged his disposable cup on the table three times in succession to interrupt his teammates' argument. 

"Alright, kids, that's enough!" His voice bellowed loud even amidst the cacophony of the Bazaar. He clapped a hand on the Titan's shoulder and continued, "Great news, you two are going to have to work out your differences within the neeext...ten minutes. I reserved a Crimson Doubles spot in the names of a certain Awoken and Exo pair and **_I'm_ ** not one of 'em!" 

Niami dropped her slice of pizza and Axis nearly choked on his ramen. The Warlock balled up a napkin and hurled it across the table at her fireteam leader. He ducked out of the way and flashed a cheeky grin, then spun on his heel and called over his shoulder, 

"Have fun! If you have any complaints, don't take it up with me! I'll be busy saving the system!"

* * *

Ten minutes of grumbling complaints from both parties later, Axis-5 and Niami were standing on the Crucible handler's balcony in their best gear for live-fire combat drills. Axis was head-to-toe in gleaming golden accolades of his Trials while Niami just grabbed a few extra pieces of armor from her Vault along with a pair of Ophidian Aspects and her sniper rifle, the Adored. Neither Guardian was happy to be surrounded by fluttering rose petals and Lord Shaxx's blaring voice reciting Golden Age poetry about love. 

Niami sneered at a pair of Hunters waiting beside them in sets of matching pink and red armor, hands intertwined and helmets leaning against each other. Axis would never admit it to his partner, but he thought the cheesy display was kind of...endearing. 

When they finally made it to the front of the [fortunately] short queue, Lord Shaxx matched them with their opponents, a Hunter and a Warlock. The Hunter seemed to be fairly young, wearing run-of-the-mill Vanguard armor with mismatched shaders and what seemed to be a random array of weapons. He was cocky and arrogant, throwing insults and taunts at Axis and Niami left and right. Neither responded, though Niami felt the anger roiling in her blood and it took everything she had to remain calm.

The Warlock appeared to be more seasoned than his Bond. Where the visor of his helmet would be was instead an abyss of Void energy, a swirling black hole of infinite nothingness — an exotic-class helm, the Astrocyte Verse. Strapped across his back was a Revoker and in his hand was a bow. Unlike his teammate, the Warlock's posture was stiff, his stance elegant, and his behavior quiet and composed. 

Lord Shaxx clapped an enormous hand onto the shoulders of both Axis and the opposing Warlock, then shouted, "Show me the power of your bonds!"

The Crucible handler's balcony faded in a rippling shimmer of light and, before they could blink, their boots were hitting the scorching brick of a Mercurian simulation — the Altar of Flame. Axis glanced over at his companion to make sure her transmat went smoothly and managed to catch the end of the coiling snakes of her arrival. His left optic twitched. 

"Do you have to represent that rat in everything you do?" he scowled. 

She jammed the magazine of her Adored into place and shot him a glare that pierced through the slight tint of her helmet's visor.

"Do you have to be a dickhead every time you open your mouth?"

"For a covert scheme, it sure has a lot of representation. What's that on your hip, a Malfeasance? Would it have killed you to equip something a little more Crucible-friendly?"

She groaned and aimed down the scope of her sniper to quickly scan the horizon. Before she could open her mouth to return another nasty retort, the HUD inside the visor of her helmet flashed red and her eyes darted to Axis. He nodded and drew his Astral Horizon, stepping in front of her and swinging his whole body in the direction where the enemy appeared on his radar. 

A flash of color darted out from behind the sandy brick wall — a dodging Hunter equipped with a submachine gun. He pulled the trigger, unleashing a hail of bullets upon the two Guardians. Axis's overshield absorbed most of the shots and he pivoted to face the quick-footed Hunter. He thrusted the dual-strength barrel of his shotgun into his opponent's chest and fired without hesitation. A little white Ghost appeared above the fallen Hunter's limp form, spinning in a panicked sphere of blue before teleporting away. 

"Cocky Kinderguardians," Axis muttered, "If they keep playing like that, all we'd have to do is stand here and we'd win."

"That Warlock seemed more experienced. He's wearing an Astrocyte, which means he's adept with Void blinking," Niami said, "Keep your eyes out for him."

The Hunter charged them two more times with the same strategy. Axis took care of him the first time with his shotgun again and Niami brought him down with the slug rounds of her Malfeasance the second. Axis couldn't help but wince as he watched the Hunter's corpse spasm from her Dark rounds even after death. He was not a fan of that hand cannon.

After the Hunter's three consecutive attacks, all fell silent for two whole minutes. Reluctantly, Axis and Niami started migrating toward the middle of the arena. They kept pace with each other, Niami in the shadow of Axis's broad form since he was the wielder of close-range weaponry in case they were ambushed. Once they reached the circular raised platform in the center of the arena, Axis transmatted a small mirror into his hand to peer around the corner. What he did not see was the Warlock at the bottom of the stairs across the way nocking an arrow into his bow and drawing back.

The Titan hissed as the arrow pierced through his shoulder, causing his circuitry to spark and blue coolant to ooze from the wound. Niami grabbed his forearm and yanked him behind the wall. She channeled the warmth of her Light into her palms and flushed it out into a rift at their feet. Axis gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow from his arm, hissing in pain as it exited his body. His companion's Light sealed the painful wound and did away with the searing agony that tore through his synthetic muscles.

"Move around mid and stay back," Niami hissed, "If I can get sights on that guy, I'll take him out and we can turn our focus back on that stupid Hunter. Farm out his lives 'til the match ends."

"Good plan. Lay low."

The pair dropped back and retreated to their former position. Niami crouched behind a platform and propped her sniper over the top, scanning their surroundings through the scope. Axis surveyed the landscape without the aid of a weapon's sights. For a split second, he caught the lens flare of a sniper rifle in his peripheral and instinctively funneled his Light through his shoulder, forming it into a translucent white barricade. 

Niami lifted her head to protest his barrier's placement, but before she could say anything, he snagged her elbow and pulled her down behind the wall. Just as her rear collided with the ground, a high caliber round shattered his blockade where she was previously staked out. 

"Holy shit, Ax," she breathlessly laughed, "Nice catch."

Before either of them could calm their erratic heart rates, a red flash appeared again on their radars. Niami scrambled to her feet and slung her rifle over her shoulder, drawing her Malfeasance as quickly as she could. By the time she readied her weapon to take on their incoming attacker, Axis was already a few feet ahead of her with his shotgun primed to fire. She moved to follow his lead in pursuit, but a swirling vortex grande was hurled from left field, blocking off her path. She cursed under her breath and tapped into her comms link.

" _Warlock separated us. Be careful._ "

" _Noted._ "

Axis tailed the Hunter through narrow pathways and under towering arches to the opposite end of the arena. As he made a tight turn around a corner, he felt a surge of heat wash over him and by the time he knew what was happening, his optics had already fizzled out and his vision was fading to black. The young Hunter unleashed a volley of flaming knives, sinking at least three into Axis's form, and landed with a haughty laugh that only the downed Titan's Ghost, Gamma, caught. He settled the New Light with the meanest look a Ghost could muster before transmatting back to Niami and resurrecting his Guardian. 

When he was revived, Axis let out a displeased groan and pressed his palm into the cool steel of his breastplate. Niami frowned. 

"What happened?"

"Fucking Hunter used a Blade Barrage on me. No escaping that."

Niami's eyes shifted to the timer in the upper left corner of her HUD. Thirty seconds. 

"No matter. Match ends in thirty seconds. I think we've got this one in the bag."

As she finished speaking, the eerie quiet of the battleground was pierced through by the ripping suction of a Nova Bomb. She spun on her heel and her eyes widened when they fell upon the hungering sphere of amethyst that was hurdling toward them.

"Get the fuck back!"

Axis reacted in the blink of an eye, roughly shouldering Niami behind him and conjuring his supercharge. A massive Void shield materialized in his hold and he guarded them both with it as the bomb of infinitesimal energy crashed. His body shook, but he remained steady and standing, protecting his teammate from imminent death. From where the Nova Bomb was thrown, the Warlock was still hovering in midair, holding a charged vortex grenade in his palm as he waited for the Banner Shield to wear thin.

Niami boosted herself behind her companion and focused all of her Light into a supercharged attack. Arc crackled across her skin and sparked at her fingertips, making the battleground smell of ozone and char. She aimed both palms in the direction of the Warlock and his teammate, who was poking his head out from behind cover, and unleashed a devastating Reach of Chaos that incinerated all that it touched. 

All that was left in its wake were two Ghosts twirling around in blue light, waiting to revive their downed Guardians. 

A mechanical voice came over the speakers of the arena, one that Axis knew well as Arcite-99, " _Match complete. Team Axiami is victorious. Initiating exit sequence in 5..._ "

Niami grinned behind her helm and turned toward Axis. His fists were clenched and he looked less than happy about **_something_**.

"Hey, we won. What are you all worked up about?"

" ** _Team Axiami_** ," he forced through gritted teeth, "I'm going to wring that fucking Hunter's scrawny neck the next time I see him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never participated in the Crimson Days (I took a break from Destiny for a while and now they're gone forever T-T) so I guess this is the closest I'll get haha. Sorry for the day late, action scenes are difficult for me!


	5. Kiss (Crow/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow enjoys a night by the bonfire with Fazia after forging the Hawkmoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Alcohol usage and (mild) sexual content  
> Pairing: Crow/Female Guardian

_Perhaps in the wake of chaos, love could find its home, even if just for a night._

* * *

The European Dead Zone bore many secluded places, abandoned by humans long ago and reclaimed by Eliksni troops, only to be left again once they were defeated by Lightbearing Guardians. Fazia's favorite spot happened to be on the outskirts of the Trostland atop a building that looked down upon Maevic Square. It was an old apartment complex from the Golden Age with rotted shutters coiled in ivy and moss sprouting from cracks in the stained cement. She stayed there on nights when she needed to be away from the City, safe from the prying eyes of allies and enemies alike. 

When she and Crow arrived after their adventure into the Reservoir, she tossed a few logs in a heap and jammed a burning knife into one. The flames took a short time to spread, crawling up to reach the wood from the handle of the dagger, then engulfing the log in wild flames. It was not long before their fire burned brilliantly, searing a hole in the darkness of Earth's night sky. Its shadows danced along the nearby walls and its flames lapped hungrily upwards in hopes of reaching the vast expanse of the universe beyond. 

She sighed and took a seat on an old shipping crate, reaching back and pressing the release on her helmet. Crow sat beside her and, after scanning the area over a few times with his own careful eyes, determined he was safe enough to do the same. He tossed his helmet down beside hers, a few feet away from their miniature bonfire. Excitement and hope danced in his amber eyes, and despite the harrowing battle they had just fought, he seemed to be coursing with energy.

"You're not tired?" 

"We just communed with the _**Traveler!**_ " he practically beamed, "I've never felt so alive!"

She grinned along with him, "We should celebrate then."

She slipped her backpack from her shoulders and set it between her legs, digging around with a mischievous smirk on her lips. She procured two sleek glass bottles from the seemingly bottomless bag and thrusted one into her companion's hand, keeping the other for herself. 

"What is this?" he asked. 

"Wine," she replied, opening her bottle with a resounding _pop_ , "From the Golden Age. I got it from my contact in the Trostland. We looted it from a cache a while back and I called dibs."

Glint materialized and scanned the bottle in his Lightbearer's grip. "I would advise against drinking that, Crow. It's hundreds, if not thousands of years old. It could poison you."

"Or..." Crow shot his Ghost a sidelong glance, then popped the cork of his own bottle, "It could get me royally hammered." 

With that, he tipped his head back and started chugging. It was terrible and tasted like vinegar, but it was sweet in comparison to his usual drinks at the Empty Tank. It went down much too easily, which was what may have been the most dangerous thing about it. He didn't realize he had drank half of the bottle in one go until he swiped his thumb over the edge of his lip to catch a drip that escaped his mouth.

Fazia watched him as he drank and argued with his Ghost. A carefree grin fit him well, emphasized the apples of his cheeks and the glossy haze in his beautiful eyes as the alcohol hit him fast. She had started feeling a lot of things since she met him; he was nothing but trouble for the stoic facade she showed the system. Right now, a long forgotten warmth was creeping into her heart and she knew very well what it was. She knew it the moment her chest tightened as she watched him die in the Reservoir. 

The mere thought of his death and her **_stupid_** feelings made her grip the neck of her bottle tighter and chug it even faster than her companion did his. 

"Zia, you shouldn't be drinking. I see the way you're looking at him," Aethe hissed into her ear, "Are you trying to do something stupid?"

"I'm just **_looking_** , leave me be," she muttered, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and shooting her Ghost a glare, "I can handle myself."

It wasn't long before both Lightbearers began feeling the effects of their drinks, eyes hazily focused on the spinning world. Crow stood from his seat beside Fazia at some point to stumble across the rooftop and pretend to stab the air with his empty bottle as a sword. The Guardian was not as carefree when the alcohol hit her. She was buzzed, but she had drank things that were stronger much quicker. She stared into the bonfire, watching the shapes dance in the flames, contemplating so many things that she could not say out loud. 

Would she ever tell him who he once was? That she killed his previous self? Could she bring herself to? She was afraid of what would happen if — no, **_when_** — she did. She knew she had to be the one to tell him, otherwise there would be no chance that he would ever trust her again. She would let him tether her with his Light to the ground or the wall or whatever was closest and load however many rounds into her that it took to satisfy his anger or confusion or whatever it was that he felt. 

In truth, she was terrified of losing him. Proof of that lie in the way she felt when she watched him die. Obviously she knew he would be revived, but watching his body get slammed into a concrete pillar and crushed by the shield of a Taken Phalanx sent a physical jolt of pain through her heart. 

She came to a regrettable conclusion after they prevailed against the Taken, on their walk to her secret spot above Maevic Square that she had never shown anyone else. Her thoughts returned to it now as she watched him drunkenly celebrating, affection swelling in her heart alongside the fear of losing him.

She was falling in love.

She busied her hands with the unwinding of her braids to keep herself from dwelling too long on the thought. It proved a useless effort, especially when he turned to her and thrust the end of the bottle in her face. He would have struck her in the nose with it had she not backed away before he reached her. 

His washed orange eyes glowed brighter in the light of the bonfire, slate-blue cheeks flushed lavender from the wine. As close as he was, she could see the Light dancing beneath his skin, ebbing and flowing like the tides of an ocean and threatening to sweep her away with its undercurrents. Traveler, she hated how he made her feel. 

In a lapse of judgement, she reached again into her backpack and pulled out a metal flask decorated with a chipped painting of a shield and a sword. She twisted it open and brought it to her lips, tipping it back and drinking thirstily. It tasted like chemicals and burned her tongue and throat worse than Hive soulfire, but nevertheless, she drank. 

"What's that?" Crow asked, stumbling to a halt in his theatric reenactment of the day's events. 

She gagged as she swallowed and screwed the cap back on, wincing as she waited for the burn to fade. Her voice rasped when she spoke, 

"Undiluted ether concentrate. Trust me, you don't want it." 

It took mere minutes for the ether to hit her. The high started in her extremities, a warm tingling feeling that spread through her veins and felt arguably better than the Traveler's Light. Her vision was next to go, to stagger and waver and make everything seem more colorful than it truly was. A heightened sense of touch followed, causing her to feel every inch of her garments brushing against her skin. Last to fade was her executive reason, the rationality that simultaneously made her thoughts run rampant and kept her actions in check. 

She fell backwards into the feeling, tumbled off the crate she sat upon and let out a laugh that was almost maniacal. Crow scrambled to help her up, but tripped over his own feet and the empty wine bottles on the ground in the process. He landed clumsily beside her instead and joined in her laughter. 

Once their euphoria died down, a comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the melody of owls and crickets. Crow glanced over at the woman beside him to find her staring emptily into the sky. He inched his hand closer to hers and dared to brush his fingers over the back of her palm. Even at such a light touch, the feeling of her warm skin against his sent shivers down his spine. 

Her golden eyes shifted to settle upon him and he swore they glowed brighter than he had ever seen them. The black markings on her forehead and cheeks meshed with the shadows cast by the fire and created stunning intricacies upon her shimmering lilac skin. His heartbeat quickened as he took it all in and a fluttering of nerves filled his stomach. 

"You're so beautiful."

His wine-drunk whisper entwined with the wind, but it was distinguishable enough for Fazia to hear. It was **_almost_** enough to shake her from intoxication and pull her back down from the clouds to ask him what in the Traveler's name he just said. But the ether was too potent and her feelings too strong, so her rationality remained soaring high above with nothing to stop her from interlacing her fingers with his and making mistakes only their poor Ghosts would recall. 

The leather of her fingerless gloves was rough on his skin when she touched his face, following the curve of his jaw with her delicate fingers and the flow of the Light beneath his skin with her swimming eyes. He watched her closely, gaze wandering over every inch of her face, committing each tiny detail to his faulty memory. 

They leaned in at the same time, meeting midway in an ungraceful collision of lips and teeth and drunken laughter. 

Their mirth died down with the flames of the bonfire, and after a few quiet moments of locked eyes, she leaned in to kiss him again. It was quick and chaste and all she could do to stop herself from wanting something more. Even still, after such a short kiss, butterflies filled her stomach and her heart hammered in her chest. 

Crow was stunned. He felt like he had been charged by a Striker, electric shocks sparking through his nerves and rending him paralyzed. His skin felt like it was on fire, as if he had been hit by a flaming sword or dagger, and he would be eviscerated at any moment. Yet, unlike all else he had experienced, this was **_good_**. It felt so good and he wanted **_more_**. 

He pulled her close to him, curled an arm around her waist and arched his fingers into her silken hair, letting his instincts take control. Their kiss was sloppy and full of yearning, the kind of dangerous kiss that would almost always lead to tangled limbs, discarded garments, and flustered Ghosts. 

Their Solar Light surged and the flames of the bonfire roared, licked higher and higher into the sky with every hitched breath and starved touch.

They parted to catch their breath for only a moment before they returned to their desperate, impassioned union. He was so much more dominant than she expected him to be; his timid, submissive personality seemed like a blatant lie once she was exposed to this domineering side of him. She dared let her hand venture down the back of his neck to take control, but he grabbed her wrist in a soldier's iron grip and pinned it to the ground above her head. Her breath hitched and he saw her pupils expand by the light of the fire. 

The woman beneath him let out a soft whine of protest when he drew back from their kiss. His lips trailed down her jawline to her throat, breath fanning hot over her feverish skin, and he pressed a bruising kiss to her pulsing jugular. She gasped at the sensation and arched further into him, fueling the growth of his intoxicated ego and something more eager to be stroked. His lips curved into a smirk against her heated skin.

Steel polymer and leather scales were too hindering for all they desired from each other. 

Crow's tattered poncho was the first to go, followed by the tangling fabric of Fazia's cloak. The buckles of his ammo belts were difficult to undo with her shaking hands, as were the intricate clamps that held closed her breastplate. Luckily, he was an adept tinkerer with dextrous fingers and was able to bare her to the cool air of the Dead Zone's night without much issue. 

The sight of smooth, supple lilac roiling with shimmering tides of Light was almost too much for him to bear. He tore his fingerless gloves off with his teeth and was all too eager to run his calloused hands over her beautiful, pyretic skin. His touch was all she craved, and with a quavering sigh and eyes fluttered shut, she was his for the taking.

That night, they coalesced beneath the soft light of Earth's moon in a totality of shimmering skin, surging Light, and blazing eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely SQUEALED while writing this. I'm such a simp, someone lock me up.


	6. Crush (Shaxx/Male Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vazin frets over his unexpected feelings for Lord Shaxx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: one-sided Male Guardian/Shaxx

_He would gladly accept death if that Striker's fist was the last thing he saw._

* * *

" _A well-earned victory, Guardians. Exit sequence in five...four..._ "

The simulated Earthen soil of the Dead Cliffs arena faded to black at the end of Arcite-99's countdown. Vazin's boots hit the carpeted ground of the Crucible handler's balcony with a _thump_ alongside his two teammates and their trio of former opponents. He tucked the golden barrel of his Last Word into the holster on his thigh and dropped to the back of the small group that was awaiting their match rewards. 

He had dominated during the match, always shooting to kill and emerging untouched in the end. Of course that meant Lord Shaxx would have a few choice praises with his name on them. 

Most flocked to the Crucible handler for praise and guidance, but not Vazin. He couldn't take a compliment from the colossal Titan without feeling heat creep up his neck and burning the tips of his ears. On one hand, he was proud to hear Shaxx's praise, but on the other, he hated how much the man's words could affect him.

Vazin was neither shy nor easily flustered. He carried shiny titles and accolades with pride and made sure to involve himself in almost everything that happened in the Tower. Aside from his impressive achievements, he was known as the Guardian who always had something to say and never kept anything to himself. So, naturally, even he found it strange at first when he started clamming up at Shaxx's praise. 

The first few times he felt that creeping embarrassment, he brushed it off as a weird side effect of coming down from an adrenaline high. Only when Shaxx clapped an engulfing hand on his shoulder did he start to realize it was something much, much worse. It had been a simple congratulatory gesture after a string of successful Supremacy matches, but it set his nerves aflutter and had his cheeks flaming. 

He continued to deny it for months afterwards, possibly even years. Never before had he caught feelings for another man. His type was pretty Huntresses in tight polymer strides and there was surely no lack of them running around the Tower. 

Only when he started dreaming of the Warlord did he finally admit to himself the cold, hard truth — he had a crush on Lord Shaxx. He had awoken in his quarters covered in sweat on the first night, head filled with images of an orange-and-white armored hand tight around his throat, and a tent in his sleeping trousers that could have housed a frontline army. He had pressed his cool palms to his cheeks to quell the burning and prayed to the Traveler that his Ghost, Luxe, would not wake up. 

Now, as his last teammate claimed their new shotgun from he enormous Titan, sweat beaded on his brow. He had another dream the night prior and woke with the Crucible handler's smooth baritone purring lewd praises in his mind. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing such praise while conscious without internally combusting. 

He didn't have to step forward for the Titan to reach him. His arm was long enough to bridge the gap, clamp a giant hand on his shoulder, and force him two paces closer. Lime green eyes darted to the steel table where a cloak lay that the Hunter could only assume was his reward. If he could just snag it and...

"Well done, Vazin!" Shaxx bellowed, "I tell everyone you're my favorite Guardian because of matches like that!"

Vazin's heart leapt into his throat and his mouth ran dry. He was glad for the tinted visor of his helmet because his face turned every shade of red and purple on the spectrum. His eyes darted from the armored hand on his shoulder to the man's unyielding one-horned helm. All he could do was pray that the Titan would stop talking, stop encouraging his crush with that sultry voice that he had grown to love and hate all the same. 

Unfortunately, Lord Shaxx was not known for his silence. 

"You don't participate in matches as much lately," the Titan observed, "The Crucible needs more fighters like you, Vazin."

Hearing his name in that voice always drove him a little mad. The Hunter swallowed the lump in his throat and hoped the butterflies would fade with it. Neither did, of course. His voice cracked when he spoke, 

"I, uh...I've been busy. The Commander sent my fireteam out to Europa for a while. Rough front, y'know?" 

"Ah. Well, you're back now, are you not?"

Vazin bit his lip and nodded, "I am."

"Drop by more often for a match or two then. I miss watching my favorite Guardian's fearsome battle tactics."

Vazin's heart pounded hard at the man's praise and his cheeks flushed even hotter if possible. The thought of Shaxx enjoying himself watching him fight in his simulated arenas caused his ego to swell and a smirk to tug at his lips. He almost shot back a coquettish remark about the Warlord keeping a close eye on him. His common sense thankfully kept him in check — he knew it was highly frowned upon to flirt with a commanding officer.

Instead, he shifted on his feet and glanced over his shoulder, "I have to get going, but I'll be sure to come more often."

"Of course! Busy as always. Take this before you go." 

Shaxx grabbed the red cloak that sat upon his desk and held it out to the Hero. It looked so small and pathetic in his hand. Vazin accepted it with a curt nod and offered the Crucible handler one last short goodbye before turning and heading towards the Vaults in the Courtyard. 

Luxe materialized over his shoulder, his voice teasing as he mimicked his Guardian, " _I'll be sure to come more often._ "

Vazin lunged to pluck the little AI out of the air, but he smoothly dodged and darted away towards the Gunsmith in a flurry of good-natured laughter.


	7. Adored (Mara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the Awoken and their reverence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: none

In a life made wanton by wishes and whims, plagued with convoluted choices and uncertainty, they have no volition—

_[O GRACIOUS QUEEN]_

In times of precarious posterity, she offers empty promises that they revere as truth and testament.  
|| it will come back to bite ||

In times of war, their arrows nock and bullets barrage, hearts tear open and rend numb with no hope for—

_[O TRANSCENDENT QUEEN]_

In a life devoted, death is none more than a dreamless and distant desire.  
|| it will drag them into the deep ||

Their adoration serves as her lifeblood.  
She will endure forevermore.


	8. First Date (Crow/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fazia takes Crow out on his first day in the City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so fixated on Awoken lore recently, all I can write about is those funky little aliens.  
> ~~  
> Pairing: Crow/Female Guardian

_"I promise we will find happiness beyond the grim nature of our existences."_

* * *

"Armor isn't the cultural norm for a date, you know." 

Crow's amber eyes shifted to his orchid-shell Ghost, his cold hands buried deep in the connected pocket of the black sweatshirt Fazia lent him the night before. He was not yet adjusted to City life and had barely any Glimmer to his name, so the only apparel he owned was the armor set gifted to him by Osiris. The outfit he wore now comprised of a streetwear sweatshirt and battle-grade strides was certainly an eyesore, but he had nothing else he could wear in public that would not scream _Guardian_. 

"It's not a date."

His smooth voice echoed off the walls of the empty white corridor of his apartment block. It was a Vanguard-standard building filled with new Guardians, fifteen floors tall and filled with dismally undecorated studio flats. He was proud to say he was one of them, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the trek down to the ground floor. Elevator access had not yet been granted to him, much to his dismay. 

" _Au contraire_ ," Glint returned, bouncing above his Guardian's shoulder with an optic that flickered waggishly, "Why else would she request a relief on your first official day in the City?" 

"She _**has**_ been away for almost three months." He lowered his voice as he passed a fellow new Guardian on the narrow staircase. Their eyes met for only a moment before he instinctively tugged down his hood and looked away. Only when they were safely out of earshot again, he added, "Perhaps she needs a break."

He pushed open the steel door of Staircase A with his shoulder when he reached the bottom of the stairs. It opened into a bright, vacant lobby lined with windows and two heavy revolving doors. He slipped into one of the triangular compartments just as a Titan was coming in from the outside and followed the door through, stumbling out on the other side. 

It was a fairly cold day, and even through the fabric of the mask he wore, his breath clouded before him. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, letting a soft smile slip behind his mask. In comparison with the Tangled Shore's polluted, oily atmosphere, even the stuffy air of the City filled with gasoline and an amalgamation of food scents was fresh. He wished he could just sit and drink it all in.

"I was starting to think you stood me up!"

His eyes opened to Fazia and his mouth ran dry. He had only seen her in civilian clothes a handful of times, but this was something different. Slim denim pants and a fitted black shirt paired with thigh-high boots and, to top it all off, the long tresses of her hair were free of their usual braids. Some sort of colored chalk dusted her eyelids, kohl accented her golden irises, and a black stain painted her lips. He couldn't help but think that he wouldn't mind having that stain all over him.

"I—uh, I don't have elevator access yet," he said, "Had to take the stairs."

She raised her brows. "Didn't think of transmatting?"

She let out a laugh when he didn't respond, and all he could do was turn away with a playfully indignant huff and shove his hands back in his pockets.

* * *

When Crow woke up that morning, he did not expect to be wearing shoes with steel blades soldered to their soles on a manmade pond of ice. 

Paramount Square was where Fazia dragged him as soon as they transmatted from the Tower to the Last City. It was one of the only parks in the entire city, stretching far across the north side. The trees were barren from the wintry weather and dwarfed by the enormous skyscrapers surrounding them, yet they didn't seem garishly out of place. If Crow had to imagine what humanity looked like before the Collapse, he would picture the joyful faces of the couples and families skating on the square's ice rink.

He could obviously not remember whether or not he had ever ice skated in his former life, but the skill seemed to come naturally to him. Lacing up the skates was a bit of a hassle and finding his balance started out difficult, but after he adjusted to the basics, skating was simple. His movements flowed easily and he had a certain grace to him that was not too dissimilar to a dancer. Had there not been so many strangers, he may have shown off a little more than he did. 

Fazia, however, was not so skillful at skating. She clung to the side railings of the rink for the most part, wobbling when she got too confident and strayed away. One or two or maybe five times she slipped and landed on her rear end. Despite her incoordination, she seemed to be having the time of her life. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, cheeks rosy from the cold, and Crow was sure to tuck that image away somewhere safe in his mind. 

He slid to a stop in front of her, leaning his back against the railing as she struggled to stand back up from her seated position on the ice. The glimmer in his eyes gave away the genuine smile behind his mask. 

"Need some help?"

"What I want to know is how you're so good at this," she whined. He extended a hand to help her up and she took it without hesitation, "I brought you here hoping we'd be falling on our asses _**together**_!" 

Her skates slipped as she stood and she tumbled forwards. He managed to catch her before she could fully fall again, but her added body weight threw off his balance and they both came crashing down to the ground. They stayed there for a few quiet seconds, smiles tugging at both of their lips, then burst into a fit of laughter. Passing civilian skaters that kited around them shot strange looks, but to them, no one else existed but each other. 

"Maybe we should call it quits for now," he chuckled.

He shifted onto one knee and stood slowly, taking care to distribute his weight evenly between both skates. Once he was standing, he offered both hands to help his companion. She gladly took hold of them, her gloveless palms ice cold against his skin. He frowned. 

"You're freezing."

She shrugged and dusted the ice flakes from her jeans. "All I have are Vanguard-issue insulated Hunter gloves and I don't like thinking about work on my relief days." 

Without giving him time to continue the conversation, she clumsily pivoted on her skates and glided over to the railing. The exit was not far from them, but she stuck to the side of the rink the entire way just in case. Crow did not bother to use the railing as a crutch and arrived at the exit a whole two minutes before Fazia. 

He was already on the bench unlacing his skates by the time she plopped down beside him. His gaze shifted to her, watching with hawklike attention as she lifted her hands to her mouth and breathed into them to generate warmth. A visible shiver passed through her. 

"Give me your hands."

She looked over at him, confused. "Huh?"

Rather than waiting for her to understand, he took her hands in his, lacing his fingers with hers. A familiar warmth spread through her, a surge of heat that lapped at her skin and banished the chill that she had barely noticed was starting to settle in her bones. His washed orange eyes flickered with the flames of a Gunslinger and in that moment she swore she had never seen anything more beautiful in any of her lives. 

His Light receded all too soon for Fazia's liking. She felt the lasting energy prickling her skin, her own Light reaching out to touch his even when she tried to restrain it. With a sharp shake of her head, she cleared her throat and bent down to unlace her skates. Her cheeks burned hotter than any Golden Gun she'd ever touched.

* * *

Their night ended back in the Tower, far below the bustling Courtyard and Bazaar, in the vacant Annex. They sat together beside the landing pad, feet dangling over the edge of the platform and brushing the plasteel netting that was installed to keep clumsy frames from tumbling off the edge. Wind whistled through the archways and empty corridors, stirring up the unclamped tarp of a supply crate a few yards away. 

The takeout they ordered from the Drunken Noodle was warm in their laps. Had Crow not needed to conceal his identity, she would have taken him to a nice restaurant in the City. Alas, his safety was one of her highest priorities, so takeout from every Guardian's favorite noodle joint served just as well. 

She popped open her foam box, the smell of fresh ginger and chopped peanuts wafting into the air. Her mouth watered and she dug her chopsticks into the pile of rice noodles with enthusiasm. Crow eyed his meal warily as he fumbled with the chopsticks in his grasp. 

"I still think noodles look like worms."

His sentiment brought a stupid grin to her face. She rolled her eyes and laughed as she took a mouthful of her food. 

They ate in comfortable silence, listening to the distant commotion of the crowded Bazaar. The view of the City below was fantastic at night, the faraway lights of skyscrapers and jumpships twinkling like stars. Fazia could not seem to focus on the scenic view since her eyes kept wandering to the handsome man beside her. She couldn't help but admire his unshadowed face that she knew she would not see much of anymore now that he was in the City. She delighted herself by studying the sharp curve of his jawline, the strong arch of his brow, the long lashes that framed his passionate eyes of amber. 

He felt her stare burning through him and glanced in her direction, cheeks puffed with a mouthful of noodles. She giggled at the sight and affectionately knocked the side of her boot against his. She set her takeout box down and leaned back on her palms, kicking her feet out against the plasteel netting and heaving a sigh. 

"Do you believe Guardians can find happiness in each other?" she asked. 

He set his own food down as well and mimicked her relaxed posture. 

"I don't know much about Guardians yet, but I believe anyone can," he replied, eyes flicking over her face in search of a reason behind her question, "Why do you ask?"

"I never believed we could. There's too much trauma, too much gore and death and...loss." The pain was clear in her words and he wanted to reach out and hold her in his arms to make it all go away. She shook her head and continued in a hushed whisper, "I tried so hard to stay away from that fear of loss, but I— you came and now..." She trailed off and ran a hand down her face with another sigh. 

"You're scared of losing me?"

Her silent nod was the only answer he needed. He curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, their takeout meals quickly forgotten. She leaned her head on his shoulder and ran her fingers along the scaly polymer steel of his strides. He reached out a hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her Light surged at his gentle touch and her heart thumped erratically in her chest. 

"I...think I'd like to try with you," she murmured. She lifted her head from its resting place and searched his amber eyes, "To...find happiness. If you'll have me."

He brushed his fingertips along her jawline in delicate strokes, tilting her chin up and gently caressing her cheek. The press of his chapped lips to hers was enough of an affirmation. His kiss was slow and tender as if he were scared his touch would shatter her. 

When they parted, he bumped his forehead against hers and interlaced their fingers in the lack of space between them. Softly, barely audible over the wind that whistled through the Annex's archways, he murmured, 

"Today was a start. I'll fight harder to stay here for you. I promise we will find happiness beyond the grim nature of our existences."


	9. Bow & Arrow (Mara Sov/Sjur Eido)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara observes the grace of her loyal Queen's Wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Mara Sov/Sjur Eido)

_"We could be mere words away from extinction."_

* * *

The burning light of Sol did not reach the ethereal land of the Dreaming City. The 'days' and 'nights' the Awoken people lived were fathoms of once-Human practices, weaknesses brought over from their time before ascension. Nevertheless, it was...natural to choose times of rising and repose. The Queen did not live by Human standards and saw no need to distinguish between night and day.

It was early in the waking hours of City folk when Mara emerged from her chambers, evidenced by the lack of loyal Vestian Guards awaiting her. The sole Guard stationed at the foot of the grand staircase offered to accompany her as she passed, but she was only dismissed by a faint wave of the Queen's regal hand.

Rheasilvia was not far from her chambers in the grand scheme of distance; they were an entire dimension away from Sol, which served once in a past epoch as their life force.

A muffled _thwack_ and the swishing slice of air by a spear-tipped arrowhead let her know she had found what she was in search of. The tall and graceful silhouette of Sjur Eido greeted her, stark against the bright nebula of the Reef's sky and the ivory towers in the distance. Her pale hair was gathered into a long braid that fell between broad shoulders made broader by plated armor. A curved longbow was at home in her firm grip.

Sjur nocked an arrow, drew back her bow's taut string, and released with practiced precision. As she reached to draw the next from her quiver, she paused. Slender fingers brushed down the length of the arrow's bone shaft and smoothed over its feathered fletching.

She drew it at the same breakneck speed required of her in the heat of combat. Her slender fingers curled around the lower limb beneath the sight and hooked the string as she nocked the arrow. The taut cord released with a _twang_ and the bone arrow sailed through the sharp pseudo-morning air. It embedded in the mossy covering of a rock ahead, where nigh fifteen arrows already had struck.

The grace of her well-muscled arm as she reached to draw her arrows and the gently sloping arch of her back as she straightened her posture to fire was practiced perfection. Her poise and near-effortless elegance came from centuries of experience and countless trials and tribulations that she fared with none more than her wit, her bow, and her spear-tipped bone arrows.

Mara watched in silence from a nearby rock. Each arrow nocked and fired by the graceful archer was a short step in a far longer waltz, the only metronome being the striking of arrows into thick moss and stone. Well-worked muscles rippled beneath pale skin that ebbed and flowed with subdermal waves of light. Mara never enjoyed watching her subjects, but her Queen's Wrath was different entirely. Sjur fascinated her.

Three more arrows cut through quiet air before Sjur lowered her bow.

"Your Grace."

Her voice was smooth and pitched deep, carried almost away on the ridge's faint breeze. She did not need to turn to know the presence she felt was her Queen. Mara's aura was empyrean, transcendent, and left a cool prickling on the back of Sjur's neck even long after departure. Still, out of respect and perhaps more than a shred of veneration, she turned and bowed deeply.

"You left before I woke. I was unpleasantly surprised when Uldren was the one to rouse me today." Mara flicked at a blade of grass growing from the rock she sat upon and shifted her eyes to the horizon, "Are you preparing for a war that I'm unaware of?"

"War is always on the horizon. We could be mere words away from extinction."

"Why should we fear the ends of the lives we live when that very fear prevents us from living?"

Sjur's lips pulled into a frown. She adjusted her slipping grip on the limb of her longbow and tucked a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. Mara's aura did not seem serious despite the weight of the words she spoke. She was leaned heavily back onto her palms and her feet were swinging off the edge of the rock she sat upon. Her eyes were focused anywhere but on Sjur's gaze, and if the archer had to guess, she would say Her Majesty was... _ **embarrassed**_.

"Are you here to reprimand me because your brother saw you nude?"

The ever-regal Mara forgot herself for a moment and kicked her boots against the rock like a temperamental child, "You could have at least dressed me in my robes if you were going to leave, Sjur!"

A dimple showed itself in Sjur's cheek despite her efforts to hide her spreading grin. Mara fixed her with a docile glare that she brushed off easily as she lifted her bow once again. She beckoned her Queen over with her free hand,

"Come. We will polish your skills in archery to clear your mind. You've relied on firearms and wit for far too long."


	10. Confession (Drifter/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Drifter gets a visit from a friend in need of comfort.

_The line between Light and Dark is so very thin._

* * *

Sleep was never something that came easily to the Drifter. On some nights, it evaded him and on others, he evaded it. This night was the latter. He sat in front of his workbench in the Annex with a mug of lukewarm coffee, a damaged mote bank, and a pile of greasy tools. It was stuffy and hot and there was nothing more he wanted than to turn on a temperature regulator to keep the sweat from dripping down his neck. Unfortunately, his was as broken as the mote bank before him.

A shuffling of footsteps in the hall drew his attention, his hand instinctively flying to the Trust in his belt. A familiar face greeted him, that of an Awoken Warlock that spent most of her time with him or in his Gambit — Niami. His eyes flickered to the swirling Malfeasance exposed at her hip and he kept his hand on his own weapon. A smile found its way onto his face because he knew no other way to treat tension.

"What're ya doin' down here this late, hotshot? Shouldn't ya be writin' up some reports for that Cue Ball commander of yours?"

His easy smile faded when her expression remained grim even at his snarky comment. Usually she would shoot back something equally witty or at least laugh if she wasn't in the best mood. His eyes shifted again to the Malfeasance at her hip, more warily this time, then back to her gaze. Her golden eyes were dull and wisps of charcoal grey lapped up from the thick layers of her robes, branching and spindling up her throat and straining to reach the line of her jaw. There was no mistaking what he was looking at.

He first noticed her resolve slipping in a match of Gambit on the Emerald Coast. She went rigid while she was invading, the scleras of her eyes grew dark, and she speared an opposing Hunter through the heart with the end of her Stasis staff. Even after he was dead, she kept stabbing and tearing at his mangled body until his Ghost was shouting for mercy, begging her to stop. The Drifter pulled her back to her team's side early. She returned in a heap of robes and blood and shattered ice crystals.

She was lucky her incident happened where it did. His Gambit was secretive and unkind to snitches and most of his players knew how to keep their mouths shut. Had something like that happened in a Crucible match, she would have been long dead at the hands of Aunor Mahal. He feared that day would eventually come.

After that match, her Darkness returned in insignificant ticks that only someone as observant as the Drifter would notice. A momentary ripple of shadow beneath pale azure skin, a wisp of black that seeped from her tear duct into her gilded iris, a shiver that seemed out of place in the stifling heat of the Annex. Sometimes when she came to visit him on idle time to watch him tinker, she would dissociate and not return for hours.

The chill of her skin was another story entirely. On the rare occasion her ungloved hand brushed against his, it was like touching something long frozen. He asked her time and time again if she was alright and she always replied with something witty that let her dodge the question. He was four hundred years old. He knew better than to believe she was alright.

He visited Europa too, attuned to the crux and embraced the Darkness just as she and her fireteam had. The effect it had on Lightbearers was something he was not a stranger to. Unlike Niami, unlike this young Warlock risen barely ten years prior, he was not so vulnerable. He had survived much worse.

As she stood in front of him now, he could tell that her Light was faltering. Darkness lapped at her skin more intensely than he had ever seen it and fear burned bright in her eyes.

"I'm scared," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse and broken, "I think...the Darkness is taking me."

His thick brows furrowed and he set down the screwdriver in his hand. He pushed out from the workbench and stood slowly from his seat. Three years he had known Niami and not once did he ever hear her openly confess to fear. She was the type of Guardian to hide her weaknesses and shortcomings, fit to be one of the heroes the Lightless relied on.

"I didn't know who else to go to. I can't tell Vazin or Axis, I don't know what they would do. They could...kill me. Would they do that?" The pace of her words and her breaths increased with each until she was incoherent and near hyperventilation, "I feel like it's getting harder to control and I don't—"

The Drifter raised his palm and she stopped abruptly, falling silent and staring with eyes wider than full moons. He stepped forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. Even through the thick weave of her Warlock robes, he could feel the chill of her skin. He was concerned for her; she was one of the few people he had come to have some semblance of trust in.

As if looking at her truly for the first time, he noticed the heavy bags under her eyes and the sunken hollows of her cheeks. Her skin was paler than normal, so ashen that the azure was closer to grey than blue, and the Drifter felt that familiar gnawing terror at the back of his mind. He was used to feeling it for himself, not for others.

Her words were nearly drowned out by the incessant hum of the bank behind the railing, "You wield it too. Do you feel it?"

He pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "The Darkness has been tuggin' at me for longer than you've been Risen, kid. Ya gotta be strong."

"I'm so cold. Are you cold?"

Her question seemed random until she reached across the space between them and grabbed his hand, fear wild in her golden eyes. His muscles tensed at her touch. Her skin was as unpleasantly frigid as he had expected it to be, perhaps even colder. It almost felt as if ice had crystallized around his palm.

It was strange to feel her so cold when she used to be so invitingly warm, her azure skin shimmering beneath the surface with her radiant Light. Sometimes his touch lingered a moment too long as he drank in her warmth. Now, as his blue eyes roamed her face, she seemed desolate. No Light simmered under her skin, boiled so close to the surface its trails through her veins were visible in the brightest of rooms. It was all shadows and Darkness.

He pulled out from her vise grip and clasped her cold hand between both of his. She had never seen him demonstrate he actually could use the Light, so it surprised her when she felt a wave of Solar heat wash over her. The lasting chill in her bones began to disappear and her eyes fluttered shut as she basked in a Light so strong.

"I won't let nothin' happen to ya. Trust."


	11. Secret Admirer (Shaxx/Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Shaxx comes across an unexpected gift. Then another...and another...

_"I would not wish any companion in the world but you."_

* * *

A pink ribboned box in a heart shape about three inches in diameter looked terribly out of place in the enormous hand of Lord Shaxx. Even the Titan himself thought so. He wondered who would dare intrude on his workspace when he was not present to leave such a thoughtless gift. He figured it was a Kinderguardian playing a trick on him and the box would explode into a mess of confetti and glitter when he opened it. Such had happened before.

His attention shifted to his loyal Redjack, Arcite-99, who was tapping away as he organized the day's Crucible match lineup.

"Arcite, is there something you've neglected to tell me?"

The frame halted in his incessant screen-tapping and turned toward the Titan. "I am not sure I understand the question, Lord Shaxx."

Shaxx lifted the box of 'chocolates' into view. "Who left these?"

"I am not sure, sir. They were not here before."

The Titan sighed and, without opening it, tossed the small pink box into a nearby trash receptacle. He turned to his screens and started his long day's work of officiating the Crucible.

Hours later, when he returned from his lunch break in the Bazaar, another pink ribboned box sat upon his desk. With a low growl of irritation, he snatched it up and nearly crushed it with the force of his grip. He chucked it into the trash with even more aggression this time around.

Two days passed without incident. He assumed his obvious aggravation deterred the prankster from continuing to play petty and childish Crimson Days tricks on him. The thought made him puff his chest in ridiculous — if not immature — pride. He was a Warlord proud to have had his rage chase off a trifling jokester.

Until it didn't.

Another heart-shaped box appeared seemingly out of thin air in the middle of the day, hours after he prided himself for chasing them off. He almost grabbed it and lobbed it over the railing of his balcony, but a small note stapled to the glittering pink ribbon caught his attention. It was a short few lines written on Vanguard stationery in messy, scrawling script:

_"I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can imagination form a shape, besides yourself, to like of."_

He paused and gently removed the note from the small box. He would recognize a quote from _The Tempest_ even with no ears to hear or eyes to see. Carefully, he tugged at the ribbon's knot and lifted the lid of the box. An array of quite expensive-looking chocolate truffles greeted him. For the third time since the phenomenon started occurring, he turned to Arcite for insight.

"Tell me you've been watching my desk, Arcite."

"It was a Hunter under the guise of Void invisibility, Lord Shaxx."

His eyes beneath the helm scanned the bustling Courtyard. "Pity. I would have liked to thank them."

Arcite-99 turned his chassis to briefly glance toward the Vault screens, then returned to his inexhaustible job.

Around the corner from the Crucible handler's balcony, just out of the Titan's view, back flat against the steel wall of the Vaults, was a lovestruck Hero with a heaving chest and a stupid, dazed grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mental picture of Shaxx with a tiny box of Valentine chocolates in his absolutely ginormous hands is so funny to me.


	12. Together (Saint-14/Osiris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osiris pays Saint a visit in the Hangar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally giving our favorite space grandpas the love they deserve <3

_To find a love long lost is to breathe again for the first time._

* * *

The sun was beginning to rise above the horizon, bathing the Hangar in its tangerine glow, as Saint-14 finished packing away his setup of bounties for Guardians to grab before they entered the Trials of Osiris. It was not uncommon for Saint to be overseeing matches of Trials well into the wee hours of morning since Guardians took the competition very seriously. 

As he had Geppetto transmat away the last of his Trials passages, a cleared throat made him turn. His attention was brought to a man standing upon his golden runner with crossed arms and a scarf wound around the lower half of his face. 

"Osiris!" The Titan greeted the newcomer with open arms. When the gilded Warlock did not step forth to accept his hug, he lowered his arms and rested his hands on his hips. 

"Have you been overseeing matches all night?" Osiris asked, "You need rest." 

A hearty chuckle from the Titan served as his response, "You have been in H.E.L.M. until now, no?"

Osiris's expression soured. His hypocrisy would not go unnoticed by the legendary Titan. Saint knew Osiris better than anyone else, and if he had to hazard a guess, he would say the old Warlock had not been taking care of himself since the loss of his Ghost. If the dark bags beneath his wrinkled eyes were any indication, he was certainly correct. 

"I took a nap," Osiris snarked. 

"Of your own accord? Or did you, uh, what is word...pass out?"

The Warlock's downturned mouth pulled even further into a frown and he averted his eyes from the glowing amethyst strip down the center of Saint's helmet. 

Saint paced forward and rested a hand on Osiris's shoulder. In the Titan's enormous grip, he seemed so frail. Perhaps it was only due to his much smaller frame, but Saint feared it had everything to do with his Lightlessness. He had always been such a beacon of strength and ability, a wild flame that could not be tamed by anyone or anything. Now, he seemed hollow and almost so Human it scared Saint. 

"You need rest more than I, my dove," he murmured, "I can tell you are tired. Come, I make us tea." 

Saint's exotic-class ship, the Gray Pigeon, eagerly awaited the two worn soldiers as they approached. Saint let Osiris ascend the steps before him, keeping a gentle hand on the Warlock's thin waist as he followed. Upon his own entry, he retracted the staircase and let the door hiss closed. 

His jumpship was the place he called home on the rare occasion he called anything that. It was not extremely spacious, but it was enough to house both men without either feeling too cramped. A steering console and the pilot's seat were stationed in the cockpit of the ship and just beyond was a deep purple sofa on a golden throw rug. In front of it was a dark wood coffee table with a set of four coasters adorned by lavender ribbons — a thoughtful Dawning present from the previous year gifted to him by the Guardian who saved him. 

Osiris stood rigid inside the homely quarters, still near the closed hatch he had entered through. It had been some time since he was confined to the Tower after the loss of Sagira, yet he was still unaccustomed to being so close to Saint again. In fact, it was his first time back on the Gray Pigeon since the Titan's return. 

He went for so long believing him dead...it was only natural some distance had been put between them. Even if Saint did not truly understand, he was observant enough to know Osiris's distance was not meant to hurt him.

Saint reached behind his head and pressed the release on his famous helmet, easily transmatting it away in a shimmer of light. Osiris met amethyst optics and, for a moment, the former time-manipulator swore time stood still. So long had passed since he last saw those eyes, it was as if he were seeing the man he loved for the first time again. He struggled to keep his stoic composure and prevent stray tears from leaking out and betraying him.

The burly Exo turned away to fetch a kettle and a tin of tea from storage. He set the water to heat and sat down on his sofa. Armor pieces were transmatted away one by one until he was left in a white tee shirt and black under-armor sheathing. Osiris fought back a schoolgirlish blush that crept up his neck as his eyes followed the frame of Saint's pseudo-muscular arm draped over the back of the sofa cushions. 

"Come sit, my dove. Our tea will be ready soon."

Osiris sat beside Saint on the sofa, stiff-backed, ankles crossed, and hands neatly folded. At his undeniably obvious tension, Saint's face plates shifted into the closest an Exo could muster to a frown. The purple lights in his mouth dimly lit as he prepared to speak, but before he could, Geppetto popped up in front of him to give a progress report about the rendering of the day's Trials playbacks. 

Saint was far from clueless, so he picked up immediately on the way Osiris's eyes glued to the little Ghost before drifting slowly to his boots. Without the shadow of his helmet and the bulk of his scarf, the stress and anger and despair were visible in every wrinkle and crevice of his Human skin. Saint wished he could take him in his arms and make it all disappear, but alas, the system was a cruel place and happiness was rare, if ever possible. 

Silence had never been uncommon between them. They would sit for hours with nothing but quiet between them as they found comfort in each other's company. Trauma after trauma, every lost comrade and shared war story, they were by each other's sides. Osiris served as his beacon of fiery light in a hopeless universe and Saint served as his wall, the man who he could lean on when he needed support the most. 

In all centuries passed, with every timeline crumbled and dimension warped in the name of devotion, none of that changed. 

"I miss her."

Osiris's words were difficult to decipher over the rumbling ship's engine, but Saint did not need to have impeccable hearing to know why his partner was in pain. He reached across the space between them and tentatively took hold of Osiris's hand. He was surprised when thin fingers curled against his own instead of pulling back. 

"I don't know who I miss more." 

The dull despondency in his eyes would have been enough to bring Saint to tears if it were possible for an Exo. The lights in this throat flashed through a spectrum of colors as he processed the flood of emotions he was feeling. Instead of acting in any way to scare off his skittish lover, he raised Osiris's hand to his synthetic lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. His skin was warm, so soothing, and something Saint had wished to feel again for such a long time. 

"You do not have to miss me anymore, my dove. I am here, I am alive, and I will fight with every last wisp of my Light to stay by your side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank ya'll for the hits, kudos, and comments! You're all so lovely and I wish you the best of days <3


	13. Table for Two (Crow/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fazia comes back late from a day in the battlegrounds and Crow has a few ideas on how to destress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: unapologetic smut/oral sex/vaginal sex

_She knew that look in his eyes, given to her before she was dragged away from prying eyes and made to moan his name in ecstasy._

* * *

It was late in the day when Fazia returned to the Tower from the battlegrounds of Nessus. The Hub for Emergency Logistics and Maneuvers was lit briefly by the solar swirl of her arriving transmat, then returned to relative darkness when her boots hit the ground. The gentle hum of Vanguard frames recently powered off filled the room along with the dim glow of the spotlights that shone in through the windows from the Tower maintenance yards below. In the center of the vacant headquarters lie the War Table, its glass top lacking the blue-hued holograms of frontline maps and battle plans. When powered off, it was like any other table, not reminding her of the countless imminent true-deaths that would occur if the Vanguard declared war on the Cabal.

Her helmet was transmatted away by her helpful Ghost, but the rest of her armor stayed. The battlegrounds that day had been especially rough, leading to her painful death and resurrection three times in total. Her cloak was ripped and torn, some parts soaked in dried blood that she was not so sure was her own. Scuffs and dents on her dirtied breastplate showed where she had been flung against hard rocks and tossed into the thick, red Nessian mud. Deep gashes in her steel polymer strides served as reminders of where Cabal Legionaries' blades sunk into her skin and left her shivering from blood loss behind boulders while she waited for Aethe's Light to heal her.

She paced forward and reached underneath the War Table, flicking the switch that turned it on. The H.E.L.M. was bathed in its blue hue as detailed holograms of planetary landscapes and battle plans flickered to life. With a weathered sigh and heavy eyes, she pressed her palms into the cool metal rim of the table and stared into the three-dimensional modeled ridges and valleys of Nessus, Europa, and the Cosmodrome. Lord Saladin's next plan of attack led them straight through Old Russia, dangerously close to operative Shaw Han and his army of new Lights. She was not fond of the thought of bringing war so near to inexperienced Guardians.

"I didn't know you were back."

Fazia's hand darted to the Crimson holstered on her thigh and she whirled around, aimed down sights with her finger on the trigger. The bayonet and barrel steadied, level with a familiar pair of washed orange eyes and white markings on slate skin. Crow. She let out a sigh and dropped her arms to her sides, fixing him with a stern look.

"Why aren't you wearing your mask?" she asked, "The H.E.L.M. has restricted access, sure, but a lot of those with authorization cannot see you."

"It's after hours, all the frames are powered down, and Glint notifies me of any incoming transmats. Trust me, I'm safe."

She let out a sigh and turned back to the War Table, eyes wandering the strategy board drawn up by Lord Saladin. Crow crossed the space between them and came to stand beside her, pressing his palms into the rim of the table as she did. He scanned the profile of her face, the crinkle of her drawn brows, the frown etched onto her lips, the rigidity of her posture. She was beautiful even in distress, the waves of light beneath her skin whirling with more frenzy than usual.

"You look tense," he murmured. He shifted his position to stand behind her and smoothed his hands over her shoulders, slid nimble fingers beneath the steel plating of her armor and kneaded the kinks from her taut muscles. She exhaled a quavering breath and leaned back into him, eyes fluttering shut as she basked in the blissful feeling. He was very good with his hands and for that she was utterly grateful.

"Lord Saladin's direction is effective, but it's precarious at best," she muttered, "I understand battle is his code of honor, but I'm not comfortable with forging a warpath through new Light training grounds."

"I'll talk to Osiris in the morning, but for now..." His arms snaked around her waist and he leaned down to press his lips against the cool skin of her neck, "I'd like to commend you for your impressive piloting skills. Evading a Thresher in a jumpship the size of yours and managing to take it down isn't a simple task."

"I did my job. I wouldn't be alive today if I didn't know how to fly."

Fazia squirmed in his arms, maneuvering her body around to face him. She steadied herself against the edge of the War Table, the metal digging uncomfortably into her lower back, and looked up to meet his eyes. Those amber irises burned with a voracity that she could feel in his bruising grip on her hips. She knew that look well, often given to her before she was dragged somewhere away from prying eyes and made to moan his name in ecstasy.

"Don't tell me watching me pilot gets you horny," she commented, "That's weird."

His arrogance was not deterred despite her mocking remark. Instead, it seemed to spur him more. His smirk spread into a grin and he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. He pressed into her, caging her body between his arms as he supported himself on the War Table.

"Crow, I have to—" she said between his rough kisses that tasted of mint and honey and everything she desired, "—shower. I'm filthy."

He bit down on her bottom lip and she yelped, shooting him a glare. She felt him smirk into the kiss before pulling away and trailing down her throat, to her pulse point that was all but asking for his attention.

"We shouldn't—aah!" She gasped when he nipped at her skin, sucking hard enough to bruise, then soothing her blissful pain with a gentle kiss, "—do this here."

"That makes it all the more exciting," he purred. His warm breath fanned over her skin and sent chills down her spine.

He brushed the pad of his thumb over her plush bottom lip, hungry eyes sizing her up and swallowing her whole. His mouth and tongue found her sensitive throat again, peppering her delicate skin with feather-light kisses that were enough to drive her to the brink of madness.

His focus strayed, scorching trails up her throat and along her jawline, until he eventually reached her lips and paused. He stayed with centimeters of space between them, teasing her with the promise of a kiss, amber eyes holding her prisoner. She became very aware of his strong hands holding her against him and the heat that was pooling between her legs.

She clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled him down, crashing her lips against his with a desperation she wasn't aware she possessed. She carded her fingers through the locks of his hair, tightening her grip with each muted moan, and with every tug on his hair, he lost more and more control. Her tongue tasted of iron and something bitter, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

He gripped her thighs and hoisted her up onto the War Table, eliciting a surprised gasp from the Hunter. His hands strayed from her hips and gripped the Crimson strapped to her leg. With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the War Table, where it clattered noisily onto the glass top. He fitted himself between her legs, pulled her closer and kissed her, insatiate and hungering. For once, she couldn't be bothered to worry about her precious weaponry.

"Crow," she panted, breathless from desire, "What if someone—" Her worries were cut short as dexterous fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her strides and tugged them down.

He slowly lowered to his knees and threw her legs over his shoulders, securing a firm grip on her thighs to hold her in place. He glanced up at her through dark lashes, a crooked smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. That look alone sent a rush of heat straight to her core. Her eyes rolled in ecstasy and she let her head fall back, savoring the mental image of the attractive Awoken between her legs for the times she would spend alone in her bunk with nothing but her thoughts to pleasure her.

"We ca—aah."

Her protests faltered and died on her tongue when he tugged aside her panties and left her exposed to the cool air, dripping wet and hot with need. His tongue darted out and teasingly lapped once over her. She squirmed and pushed his head away slightly, but he only dug his fingers deeper and tightened his grip on her thighs.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled, low and breathy. That voice was enough to erase any inhibitions she still held about being exposed in such a place as the H.E.L.M.

"Yes, sir," she breathed.

His arrogance was one of the things she loved most about him. Gone was the docile and terrified shell of the man who existed in the shadow of the Spider. His true self shone in the City: passionate, confident, and unafraid. A regretful part of her wondered if this was who Uldren once was or could have been, beyond his twisted hatred and undying royal devotion. The fleeting, intrusive thought was shaken away as his fingertips shifted on her bared skin and she was brought back to her wonderful reality.

He buried his face between her thighs, his long hair tickling her skin and his nose pressing hard into her pelvis. He drew his sinful tongue over her sensitive bud, circling and lapping in a painfully slow rhythm. She whined and leaned into his touch, digging her fingers into his scalp and running them through his silken hair.

The pace of his tongue quickened, keeping rhythm despite her erratic breaths. She gasped and quivered with each measured flick which only fueled his drive to bring her to completion. The only thing that kept her from coming completely undone and melting into a moaning mess was the hard gaze she kept locked on the ceiling.

Her mistake was glancing down at the man between her legs. His gaze was locked on her, amber eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust so unrestrained that she almost came just meeting them with her own. He lapped up every whimper and moan that escaped her lips and faded into the purring silence of the H.E.L.M.

She threaded her fingers into his hair as she felt a pressure building in her abdomen, an excruciating pleasure that made her muscles grow more taut with every passing moment. A groan escaped his lips as she tightened her grip on his hair and it vibrated through her core. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, even through her foggy senses.

Before she was able to make any snarky remarks about his poorly concealed masochism, she was silenced by the abruptness with which he stood and wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt his stiff arousal tease her slit, a cruel torment after bringing her so close to the edge of release. She almost flipped him over and sunk herself down onto him with patience worn thin. Fortunately for her, he was as unwilling to wait for satiation as she.

She was slick with desperate desire when he touched her and he was more than happy to fulfill her needs. He stretched her so blissfully that she could not contain the whine that escaped her lips with his first thrust inside. Her nails dug into the soft skin at the nape of his neck and she threw her head back, her eyes rolling with pleasure. Every buck of his hips caused another whine to leave her lips, another note of music to his ears.

His pace was rough and fast, dark brows knitted together as his intense eyes kept hers under lock. Hers were half-lidded and glazed with ecstasy, only visible by the golden glow that seeped through her thick lashes. Her lips were swollen and red, sinfully parted when they were not molded with his and sending his senses into overdrive.

"Gods, Crow, I—aah!"

She let out a strangled yelp as she felt the Light within her surge and the blissful pressure in her abdomen tighten like a rubber band threatening to snap. With each thrust, it became tighter...and tighter...and tighter...

Her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers tangled in his hair as she came hard. Her walls clenched around him and her muscles grew taut under his fingers. Her back arched against the chill of the War Table and she moaned so loud it bounced back to them off of the empty walls of the hub. His orgasm came crashing down on him soon after, left him seeing white and hearing crackling stars.

"Uh, your order from the Drunken Noodle is ready for pickup."

The orchid-shell Ghost that materialized over Crow's shoulder did his best not to look at the half-naked woman splayed on the War Table in front of his Guardian. Crow pulled out of her with a sigh and tucked himself back into his strides, settling his Ghost with a mild glare out of sheer embarrassment. Fazia's lilac skin flushed a darker shade of purple and she hopped down from the table, yanking up her own strides to cover her. A filigreed leather mask transmatted into Crow's palm and he affixed it to his face.

"So, uh...you ready to go get dinner? I ordered for both of us."

She smirked and flashed him a wink, her embarrassment fading as quick as it had come, "Only if I get another _treat_ afterwards."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the War Table was introduced, my mind went straight for the gutter. I haven't written smut in literal years, but I just had to.


	14. Love Letter (Uldren/Jolyon)

_He could clash blades with grotesque monsters, traverse pits of death in the name of his Queen, sink bullets into the skulls of those he once called acquaintances, but he dared not gaze upon the empty eyes of his lost love._

* * *

_[A weathered parchment page, curled at the edges and riddled with Taken corruption that burns the fingers and stings the eyes. Found inside a Rheasilvian sector, discarded beside six empty 50-caliber bullet casings.]_

My Beloved,

The last I saw of you was your crumpled form in the corner of your cell in the Prison of Elders, pitiful and pathetic, and I wish I could have saved you sooner. I whispered your name that day, hoping to bring you home so I could hear your voice again, but even I think I knew that you were long lost. Gone was your reckless charm and arrogance, your cocksure grin that made my heart stutter, your desire to be you and only you. In its place was the shell of a man driven mad by grief and taken away by something far beyond any of our reach. I blame the Black Garden. I wish I could have talked you down from our venture.

I still have nightmares of that wretched place where madness thrives, of the nameless horrors that you thought to be beautiful. Sometimes I dream of you frolicking in fields of Vex corruption, skin melted away by radiolaria yet a smile still burned onto your princely features. Your eyes in those dreams cause me to wake in cold sweat. I have seen your eyes a thousand times, gotten lost in them two thousand — glowing washed amber marked with flecks of gold as almost a reminder of your royalty — and those that I dream of are not them.

My last words to you before you were lost should not have been so unkind. They were spoken before our departure to Saturn for our offensive against the Taken King, before all we once loved was lost forever. I raised my voice at you for heedlessly steering yourself headfirst into the way of harm. You mocked me for caring so, then flashed a grin and boarded your fighter ship with a two-fingered salute. It was a feeble farewell from a man I loved for two thousand years and counting.

I fear even if our losses were not so great at the Battle of Saturn, you still would not be here. You were gone long before the Queen went missing. The Black Garden swallowed your truest self, chewed you up, and spat you out into the arms of the Dark. Walking the line between Light and Dark is difficult, constantly having to fear teetering too close to one side or the other. The Garden was the only push you needed to send you tumbling so far from the rest of us.

I am not sure if I regret refusing to attend your funeral ceremony. I do not know whether I refused because I did not want to believe you were dead or because I did not want to accompany one of your killers to watch them pull a ceremonial shroud over your face and lay the Asphodelias we discovered at your resting place. An unfair part of me blames Petra Venj for your death since she watched the life drain from your eyes. I know I should not.

The reason I am writing this is because I am not sure how to process your resurrection. I have still not fully come to terms with your demise.

I saw your face on the Tangled Shore, accepting foul drinks on the tab of an Eliksni Captain at a hole-in-the-wall bar that I only visit in times of deep sorrow. You spoke to one of those floating orbs, a classic companion of Lightmongers, and nursed your terrible drink with watering eyes. I watched you for an unreasonable amount of time, only two seats down, but I did not speak to you. I left when you cupped the orb in your hands and nuzzled it to your cheek. I am not sure if the bile that rose in my throat was from jealousy or the engine-coolant drinks.

I know that was not truly you. I recall Savin as he came before the Queen, how he remembered none of his life, forsook it all for the wretched Traveler. I despised Savin almost as much as did you, Queen Mara, and possibly everyone who knew about his amnesiac resurrection. I cannot bring myself to despise you even as a...Guardian. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but it does not blossom into burning hatred in my heart.

I regret not telling you sooner, but time was never my priority since we were spoiled with eternity.

I will always love you.

Yours Forever,   
Jol


	15. Friendship (Crow, Holliday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow seeks out Amanda Holliday for some advice.

Crow flipped a wrench into the air and caught it in his hand, back leaned against the metal support beam of one of the Hangar's many maintenance tents. Sparks lit up the underside of a sparrow on a lift beneath it, its decorative ribbons brushing the legs of the person working on its repairs. A whirring of tools filled the open space, not necessarily loud, but incessant nonetheless. Amanda Holliday's workspace was never quiet between the noise of her constant power tools running, the Tower maintenance staff bustling around barking orders, and the rumbling engines of the jumpships that constantly came and went.

When the sound of soldering stopped, a lean blonde woman wearing grease-stained coveralls wheeled herself out from under the carriage of the sparrow and lifted her smudged goggles,

"Sorry, Crow. It's busy today and orders wait for no one. Gimme a minute and I'll be onto the shader job, then I can talk."

She flipped down her goggles again and disappeared back under the sparrow. Crow hummed in acknowledgement, mostly to himself, and lifted his gaze to scan the busy Hangar. In the distance, he spotted Osiris standing on a golden runner in front of a stationary jumpship, engaged in conversation with a Titan at least twice his size whose armor was adorned with purple ribbons. He looked almost civilian as he took a handful of something from the Titan and began scattering it across the ground. A flock of grey birds fluttered over to peck around his feet.

Even from the distance Crow was standing, he did not miss the subtle affectionate exchange between the two men. The Titan settled an armored hand on Osiris's waist with a gentleness uncharacteristic of his class, and the Warlock swayed into the touch for a moment before remembering himself and leaning away. Crow averted his gaze, feeling like he was witnessing something too tender for public eyes.

The growl of a jumpship's engine perked his ears and drew his attention to the landing pads. The maintenance frames waved their glowing batons as they guided a ship in for docking. It was a bulky-framed thing, with protruding engines on either side of the smooth curve of the hull. Its body model and growl reminded him of Fazia's jumpship, the Ermine TAC-717. He knew better than to hope it was her — she was off-planet running Strike ops on Nessus and she wouldn't be back for another week.

The incessant whirring of Holliday's power tools stopped and she rolled out from underneath the sparrow again, this time springing to her feet as she did. She turned away from Crow and began inputing some lines of code into the terminal at the back of her tent.

"I'm shadin' this baby now, so you were sayin'?" Her eyes shifted to Crow briefly before they returned to her terminal screen.

"You're a woman. What do women like?"

A blonde brow quirked and she chuckled, "We ain't a hivemind, rookie. Every lady's different."

He sighed and scratched at his head beneath the hood. "Well, yeah, I know that...but I meant in general. I don't have much experience."

She input a final code into her terminal and faced away from it, leaning her back on the desk and crossing her arms over her chest. A grin split her face.

"You got a lil' crush, huh?"

"Not exactly. She's..." He averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, "...my girlfriend. I think."

"You _think_?" she repeated, her brows lifting. She grabbed the finished shaders from the terminal's depositor and turned back to the scuffed and chipped sparrow on her lift, "Have ya'll kissed? Done the nasty?"

He felt heat creep up his neck and flush his azure skin, his voice pitched higher with embarrassment, "Holliday!"

She smirked, "I'll take that as a yes, though it's a damn shame. I've always had a thing for the masked guys and gals." His amber eyes widened and she laughed, "I'm only kiddin'. So who's this gal and what's the occasion?"

"It's Fazia," he sighed, "I want to take her out and make her feel like a woman, not a Godslayer, just for a night. But I don't know what to do."

"Get some ol' fashioned ropes an' cuffs an' don't use that freaky Lightplay y'all Guardians do." She halted her shading job to shoot him a mischievous grin and suggestively wag her brows, to which he rolled his eyes. She continued, "Seriously, though, you're a real sweetheart. She's been through some tough shit. I'm glad she's got someone who wants to spoil her good."

"I want to, but I don't know where to start. That's why I'm asking you."

"Her and I ain't much alike, but...maybe start with some flowers. Get 'er a box of chocolates and take 'er someplace romantic. Like the first place ya'll met or somethin'."

He was silent for a moment before he noted, "...we met in the Hellmouth."

"Alright...maybe don't do that," Holliday remarked. She nodded to the aluminum folding chair by her desk and said, "Sit down and tell me about ya'll's relationship, I'm a sucker for a cute story. I'll be workin' on this baby for a while and I appreciate the company. Least I can do is try to give ya some date night tips."


	16. Date (Male Guardian/Female Guardian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niami and Axis-5 are once again unsuspectingly set up by their meddling fireteam leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon running around in my brain that established fireteams have communal flats and I feel like that'd be such a fun little dynamic.

The night was blustery and cold as Niami pushed her way past throngs of civilians in the bustling streets of midtown. Neon signs from bars, restaurants, and nightclubs bathed the street in a widespread spectrum of colored lights. Even the glow of the distant Traveler did not outshine the artificial luminescence of the Last City's nightlife that was almost blinding. Her golden eyes shifted away from her path to a sign with script neon letters that protruded angularly above the sidewalk — the Singularity.

She was able to spot the hulking form of her teammate Axis-5 before she could even see the entrance of the restaurant. As a Titan, he was naturally much larger than most Guardians and a giant in comparison to the civilians that surrounded him in the middle of the City. He was leaned against the brick wall of the Singularity, glowering red optics focused hard on the screen of the cell phone in his large hand. He did not look happy about the negative attention he was receiving because of his size.

He and Niami disagreed much more frequently than they agreed, but that didn't mean she did not feel bad for him at times, especially times like this. Even when he was not in bulky armor adorned with daunting spines and and trophy bones, he was feared. She was muscular, but her build was lithe and lean, so she was able to blend easily into City life when she stripped of her Warlock robes and wore civilian clothes. For him, it was not so simple.

She could tell he was trying hard to fit in and was miffed about miserably failing. The antennae on the sides of his head were flattened back, showing he was more than a bit flustered. He wore a pair of black slacks and a blue dress shirt that was ill-fitted around his biceps, hugging his synthetic Exo muscles so tight it showed every curve and indent of definition. It was not as if he was wearing something that shouted _I'm a Guardian, I could crush you with one finger_ , but it did not take a genius to see he was a Titan. For what it was worth, Niami thought he looked quite attractive, not that she would admit that to him.

Her approach was noticed by him before she could say a word. He locked and pocketed his phone, tossing his jacket over his shoulder and nodding in greeting. The lights in his mouth and throat glowed brashly in the shadow of the skyscrapers around them, flashing crimson as he spoke,

"About time you showed up."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't act like I'm an inconvenience. Where's Vaz?"

He shrugged, "Hasn't showed. I figured he was with you."

The Awoken woman groaned and leaned back against the building beside her teammate. She stared up at the towering skyscrapers that barely gave way to the deep blue evening sky above. Axis blatantly stared at her, eyes flicking from the bouncy curls of her ivory hair to the curve of her waist in her dress and the way her azure skin shimmered with waves of Light in the shadows. His attention shifted quickly away when she looked back down from the sky and pulled at the hem of her dress. He could see the goosebumps on the surface of her skin even from his towering height.

"Are you cold?"

She pulled her jacket tighter around her body and scowled, "What gave you that idea?"

"I would offer you my jacket, but you're kind of a bitch." Her scowl deepened and the bulbs in his throat flickered magenta as he laughed. He glanced briefly at the screen of his phone, then added, "Let's head inside, the reservation should be ready. Vazin can deal with the consequences of being bad at managing his time."

The Singularity was a fancy lounge in midtown in the penthouse level of one of the City's many skyscrapers. It was Vazin's idea to celebrate their fireteam's anniversary at such a high-end place. Niami suggested getting hammered at a bar in celebration and Axis brought up the idea of takeout from the Drunken Noodle. As the fireteam leader, Vazin got the last word, of course.

It was not until the hostess led them to their reserved table that Niami found something amiss. They were led to a booth for two, tucked away behind draping red curtains and lit by a miniature chandelier that cast dim light upon the secluded space. As they slid into their seats, Niami studied their surroundings with narrowed eyes. She leaned over the table and hissed to her companion,

"Is this another setup by Vaz like that Crimson Bond bullshit?"

Before he could answer or even begin to speculate, an Exo waitress in a sleek black dress flounced over with a notepad in hand. Her bright eyes gleamed in the dim mood lighting and her mouth LEDs were practically blinding as she spoke in a silvery tone,

"Welcome to the Singularity! Happy hour will be starting shortly. In this season's spirit, our drink of the month is a Sex on the Beach for only fifty Glimmer. Tonight's hors d'oeuvre is oysters on the half shell in white wine sauce. Can I start you off with some drinks?"

As if on cue, Axis's phone vibrated on the wooden tabletop with a text in their group chat from their fireteam leader: _Enjoy your date, don't do anything I wouldn't do ;)_

Axis snatched up his phone and shot back a quick _fuck you_ , then glanced to Niami's swiftly souring expression with her eyes trained on her phone as well. He turned his focus back to the waitress and flashed an Exo smile, tinged yellow with nerves, "I'll have a lemonade and she'll have an iced tea."

"Make that a Long Island iced tea," she muttered, "I'll need it."

The Exo waitress was gone as quickly as she arrived. The two Guardians were left sitting across from each other in awkward silence, burning holes into the screens of their phones with laser-focused stares. Niami's blood was boiling at the nerve of their fireteam leader that never seemed to fail and Axis was trying to lay low and steer clear of the verbal assault that awaited his next words.

Niami wasn't necessarily angry at the situation, she was more nervous than anything. She was very aware that Axis had feelings for her. He confessed one night after a particularly tough Strike operation and she was not so closed off to the idea at the time. They headed out to grab a few drinks while Vazin was called in to help contain a prison break on the Tangled Shore. They were happy for a night, but grief was brought with the sunrise and their leader's lonely return.

She was not so sure she could ever return the feelings Axis still harbored for her. A rift grew between them when the Drifter arrived; she partook in his shady schemes to distract her from mourning and Axis was the first to reprimand her for it. He feared the rogue Lightbearer was drawing her into the Dark, but she just called him a zealot and refused to listen. Even if the vagrant and her allegiance to him faded into mere memory, she and Axis had so much history that stemmed from it she wasn't sure she could ever put it behind her.

Their drinks came before any words were exchanged between them. Niami chugged hers in record time while Axis watched in mild awe and slight concern. Her hostility seemed to be soothed by the alcohol, but he remained guarded and tense. She leaned her cheek in her palm and stirred the melting ice and leftover tea in her glass with the straw she didn't bother to use.

"Y'know, this could be worse," she finally remarked, raising a slim platinum brow, "I could be on a date with Vaz."

Axis chuckled, "Was that a compliment?"

"Thinly veiled." Her tongue poked out from between her lips to draw her straw into her mouth and she glanced up at him through long lashes, "You look good tonight."

Her expression sent a current of electricity straight through him and he was forced to clear his throat and look away. He wondered if she was aware of just how much of an effect she had on him. There were times he feared she was going to cause him to short circuit by merely existing. He thought his feelings would fade after years of working by her side, but unfortunately, they did not.

"So do you."

Awkward silence settled between them again. Niami watched Axis with distant eyes as he stared at his phone, studying the chipped white paint on his black frame that snaked out from the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt, curled around his wrists, and came to coiling ends around his middle and ring fingers. Tattoos on Exos were different than on Human or Awoken skin — almost permanent, but not quite. It was only natural for even the hardiest of paint to chip off from the constant wear and tear of everyday battle. She remembered when he first got the swirling patterns on his arms, at the parlor downtown when they were barely two years Risen. So much had changed since then.

His crimson optics flicked up from his phone and met with her empty gaze. Her cheeks flushed when she realized he caught her staring and she glanced away, pretending something was very interesting inside of her empty glass. He noticed the obvious blush that tinged her cheeks lavender, but decided it was best not to mention it. He set his phone face-down and folded his arms on the tabletop.

"So, how are you feeling about us heading back to Europa so soon?"

Niami groaned, ran a hand down her face, and dropped her head onto her forearm splayed across the table, "I'm pissed that Commander Zavala couldn't have chosen another fireteam for Hailstone."

"We know Castalia Macula better than any other fireteam. Unfortunately."

"Can we talk about something else?" she sighed, "I'd like to not think about that Traveler-forsaken place the night before we're deployed back."

"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to getting that Crystocrene crap back out of the Vaults," he muttered. His internal fans whirred in a tired sigh before the LEDs of his optics brightened again and he added, "Oh yeah, have you heard about that rookie that's been hanging out in the H.E.L.M.? Kid just got here and he's already got access."

"He's got connections, knows Osiris and one of the Godslayers. Heard they took down one of Xivu Arath's celebrants together..."

* * *

Time passed much faster than either of them thought it would on their forced date. They left the Singularity in high spirits around eleven o'clock in the evening. Niami had more than a few drinks in her, all charged on Vazin's account as compensation for his scheme, and her tipsy laughter echoed through the streets, mingling with the sounds of hovercraft traffic and the subway that ran under the grates beneath their feet. Axis brought out his Ghost to transmat them both home, but before he could initiate the sequence, Niami grabbed his arm and dragged him to the end of the street.

They arrived at a street vendor selling plants in all shades of red and pink in honor of the Crimson Days. Fluttering around the stall and buzzing with excitement about plants, Niami looked so natural. Her gilded eyes shined even under the harsh light of the streetlamps and her smile lit up brighter than any neon sign or glowing lantern. A warmth that Axis would never get used to spread in his chest at the sight and his face plates shifted into the slightest hint of a smile.

She turned abruptly, thrust a potted scarlet snapdragon into his hands, and asked his opinion. His chest squeezed at the domesticity of it all and that all-too-familiar pit of longing for something more lasting than one date opened up within him. He wanted to buy furniture with her as more than a flatmate, rent a place together without Vazin where there was one bedroom and a queen-sized bed that could barely fit the both of them, make her breakfast that wasn't to help cure her from a hangover.

He bought her two snapdragons.

They arrived home to their fireteam flat well past midnight. His large jacket was draped over her shoulders and each one of them held a snapdragon in the crook of their arm.

"—won't let you forget about that clutch play of yours in our last Survival match."

"What play?"

"When you activated your supercharge and obliterated yourself with a Nova Bomb that slammed into a pillar in—"

"Shut up!" She shoved him into the doorway and he chuckled, shutting the door behind her after she entered, "That was an accident!"

When they set foot into the communal living room of their flat, Vazin was ready to greet them. He was sitting backwards on the sofa, a documentary playing behind him that he was paying no attention to, and his chin propped in his palms leaned on the back cushion. His eyes flicked from the jacket on Niami's shoulders to the gentle hand Axis kept on her lower back so she wouldn't stumble, and a sly smirk crept onto his face.

"Seems like two you enjoyed your date."

Niami set down her snapdragon on the coffee table and returned his smirk, if not slightly more devious, "Oh, we did. And _you_ will enjoy the bill."


End file.
